


Welcome to Vriska's Twisted Mind

by ang3lba3



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Goodbye Sex, Pale-Red Vacillation, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Sadstuck, Telepathy, descriptions of dead bodies, red diamond, this is not a happy place, what are they? we just don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6958777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'll burn this new world before you let her go without one last goodbye.</p><p>Luckily, you won't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Vriska's Twisted Mind

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr!](http://cannibalswelcome.tumblr.com/)

It had taken a solid week of planning and collaboration with the remaining survivors, but you think that you have it down. Dave knows this time stuff that just sounds like mumbo jumbo to you inside out, and if anyone can reverse time solely around someone else’s mind it’s him. You won’t have forever, even if time is almost stopped but -

 

You think that you’re ready.

 

(You could never be ready.)

 

Dave gives you one last (pitying, fuck his pity, fuck all of their pity, you can smell it on them and it _disgusts you)_ smile that smears like chunks of vomit across his face, and you shift impatiently from your spot across from him on the table. You’re holding hands like you’re about to do a B horror movie seance, and you’re not sure if the sweat is from his palms or yours.

 

Then the air becomes liquid around you as Dave rewinds time, heavy with the scent of magma and hints of campfire smoke. It settles in your lungs like cancer, and you cough, but you have no time for such shenanigans as difficulty breathing.

 

You close your eyes, even though you can’t see shit anyways, and _focus._

 

Reaching out is electrifying, sharp teal lightning tracing a jagged path through paradox space as you reach out for her. She’s so hard to find - you must sift through a dozen, a hundred, a thousand versions before you find the one that feels like yours. You know it’s her the second your mind brushes hers. You’d know her anywhere.

 

You push until your minds are parallel, passively pressed side to side, and the body you’re barely aware of squeezes Dave’s hands so that he knows you found her and to extend the little bubble of time so that she could move in it too.

 

And then you pull, you tug her into you, and you’re standing in her mind.

 

 _“What the fuck,”_ Vriska asks, and her voice echoes. She’s so loud here, and it helps to drown out the mild heckling coming from the piles of rotting things that slouch in the corners.

 

“You didn’t _really_ think that you could get away from me without a proper goodbye, did you, Serket?” you say, doing your best to smirk but coming up with something twisted and ugly instead.

 

“You’re not supposed to be here!” Vriska says, and you can tell that she’s amping up to go on one of her epic ‘I 8M THE LE8DER’ rants but you don’t have time for that and mothergrub you _fucking missed her._

 

“I’m from the future, past me is exactly where she needs to be. That doesn’t matter,” you pause, move in her direction, step in something that squishes on your way there and know without trying that it’s a girl you killed, a girl you killed together, as the Scourge Sisters. With a dawning sense of realization, you know that all the dead things here are people you killed together. They’re partially melted, decomposing, some in cocoons or resting in the giant web in the distance where Vriska’s lusus hisses occasionally.

 

You know, at the same time, that Vriska doesn’t hold onto these memories out of guilt. They’re not haunting her.

 

They’re _comforting_ her.

 

“What matters is I-” you choke, “I came to say... “

 

You can’t get the words out. They just. You can’t.

 

“Goodbye,” Vriska says flatly. “I don’t make it, huh?”

 

“How can you be so calm about this!” you yell, because you don’t understand. It’s been hell without her, and she just stands there like - “How can you not care, that you fucking - you left me! How could you _leave_ me?”

 

She takes a step forward, and then another, but it’s hard to hear her footsteps over the rush of blood in your own ears or smell it when your nose is clogging up with tears.

 

Neither of those things stop you from feeling when she touches your face, when she leans in to press her forehead against yours. This close, you don’t need to smell. You can taste on your tongue the thick, acrid scent of sorrow.

 

“I’m so,” she says, but she doesn’t get the word that should come after out. Instead she presses her lips to yours.

 

You can’t, you can’t, it hurts _too much,_ to feel her and know it’s the last time this will happen. But you can’t pull away, it would kill you to pull away from her now, so you just stay there and memorize the perfect way her lips form to yours. It’s not pale, not really, not the way you thread your fingers in her hair and rest your hand on her ass to pull her as close to you as possible. But at the same time, the way she cups your cheek is so unbearably tender and you can feel your teal tears slide onto her face and mix with her cerulean and you’re practically choking on how much you pity her. Except if anything, you’re choking on the tongue she’s trying to shove as far into your mouth as possible.

 

You don’t need to break apart for air, you’re not in a fucking actual body, but your brain thinks you do so you do. You’re both breathing hard, and she isn’t crying as hard as you and that isn’t fair.

 

“How are you not more upset?” you demand. But you know the answer, and you know you don’t want to hear it, so you’re really not sure why you asked.

 

She’s merciful, she doesn’t answer that she was the hero and that’s all she’s ever wanted to be, that in the end she wanted it more than she wanted _you_ , and instead kisses you.

 

Somewhere between the time when her hand is papping your cheek and you’re riding her fingers, you start to fade. You cling desperately, you need more time _you need more time -_

 

But there isn’t any. There’s just you, fading away to barely there as Dave’s power begins to run dry, brutally digging your heels in to keep from disappearing completely.  

  
You can’t hold on, but you try, mothergrub do you fucking _try,_ and so you’re tangentially there for her final triumph. She burns with righteousness, with the light that she sucked from your soul and your life when she left you alone, white hot and bright as the sun that blinded you.

 

Then.

 

Then there’s nothing.

 

It’s so abrupt, that you don’t realize at first that you weren’t pulled away. You’re still in that slowed down moment of time, but -

 

She isn’t.

 

She’s not anywhere, she’s just _gone,_ and she’s wiped from paradox space in the rush of a juju and a black hole, and the world around you is so empty of minds that you feel simultaneously expansive and infinitesimal and.

 

And you’re holding Dave’s hands, the world around you is the steel grays and candy red of Karkat and Dave’s hive, your pants are soaked through with genetic fluid, your face is covered in snot and tears, and in the distance you can hear Roxy strifing playfully with Jane.

 

You’re home.

 

(You’ll never be home again.)

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first in a series of unrelated scourge oneshots, with only one noble goal:
> 
> make my friend blaze sob like a freaking baby.
> 
> if you have any crazy sad ideas you'd like seen done with these children, throw 'em at me in the comments! or any at all. really, i just noticed how little femslash I've written, and i am Ashame.
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr!](http://cannibalswelcome.tumblr.com/)


End file.
